


The War Inside

by L_Greene



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Self-Harm, Some Cursing, if hurt/comfort isn't your thing just move on, the whole story is basically one big trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 16:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12561528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Greene/pseuds/L_Greene
Summary: Not all of Gabriel's scars are from omnic battles.





	The War Inside

Usually Jack fell asleep quickly with Gabe cuddled up behind him, arms wrapping possessively, protectively, around his stomach. Usually being able to feel Gabe’s heartbeat against his back would be comforting enough to knock him out in a few minutes, with or without the blanket Gabe insisted on tossing over them, no matter the temperature. Usually all he needed was skin-to-skin contact with Gabe to stave off the PTSD nightmares, letting him dream about some distant future away from the Omnic threat, when Jack could finally pluck up the courage to tell Gabe he loved him.

Tonight was different.

Gabe had his face buried in between Jack’s shoulder blades, his goatee tickling Jack’s spine as he clung to him, perhaps trying not to think about how close he’d been to losing him. Jack hated to admit it, but it had been a pretty close call—the Omnic had nearly taken off his head. By some miracle, the shot had been slightly to the left, missing him by inches, but Gabe had seen, and clearly, he hadn’t forgotten. Jack ran his fingers over Gabe’s forearms, taking comfort in feeling the hair that covered them, the warm skin and muscles taut beneath his hands, the solid  _being_  that was Gabriel Reyes pressed against him.

Jack’s thumb trailed up the inside of Gabe’s wrist, and it took him a second to register the change in texture as his hand moved toward Gabe’s elbow. There was a bump there, but it wasn’t so much a bump as a ridge, a series of raises on the soft skin of Gabe’s forearm, a procession of scars…

Gabe tensed up, as if he’d suddenly realized where Jack’s hands were, just as Jack paused. “Gabe,” he whispered. “What—?”

Gabe pulled his arm back, or at least started to—Jack threaded his fingers through Gabe’s and held tight, turning over to face him. Gabe was looking toward their knees, at the sheets, to the wall across from their bed, anywhere that wasn’t Jack’s face. “Don’t,” he muttered. “I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t need to lecture me.”

“I wasn’t gonna lecture you,” Jack said. He cast a quick glance down to Gabe’s forearm to confirm what he suspected, what he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before—a series of thin scars, a few shades lighter than the rest of his skin, crisscrossing the inside of his arm from wrist to elbow. Jack wasn’t a fool. He knew self-harm scars when he saw them.

“I don’t need your pity, either,” Gabe said. “It was a long time ago. I was weak.”

“Don’t—you’re not—“ Jack’s throat constricted, and he struggled to swallow to clear it. “You don’t need to tell me about it if you don’t want to. I won’t ask. But… if you ever do want to tell me about it, I want to listen.” Still holding Gabe’s hand, he gently rotated his arm to get a better look. There were easily two dozen individual scars just on his left forearm alone, and Jack wondered if his other arm or his legs had more. “You’ve been through so much pain, Gabe. I didn’t realize.”

By now, Gabe was looking at him again, eyes swimming with tears. “You know they made me do a psych eval before they let me into the program? Not like the regular one that everyone else did. A more thorough one. I had to convince them I had a lid on it. Obviously I convinced them.” Gabe turned his head to wipe his face against the pillow. “But it’s hard sometimes to…to really believe it’s behind me. It’s addictive in ways you wouldn’t understand. Sometimes it feels like I’m nothing but scar tissue.

“I’ve been like this for twelve years, nearly half my life,” Gabe said, and Jack got the impression that he hadn’t told this to many people. “I was fifteen the first time. High school was rough. I was isolated. Never bullied or anything, not made fun of. Hell, I think that might have been preferable to the reality. I was just… invisible. Hardly anyone spoke directly to me. I didn’t have any friends. There were so many kids that none of the teachers really noticed me. My mom was gone so much, and my dad had the night shift. I came home from school where it felt like I didn’t really exist just to spend the rest of my time in an empty apartment, and it felt like I was just slipping away. I didn’t feel anything but alone. And then one day, I was just tired of feeling nothing.”

There was a deep aching in Jack’s chest. He couldn’t imagine how alone Gabe must have felt—and for so long.

“I was hooked then, even if I didn’t realize until later. It probably doesn’t make sense, but cutting actually releases endorphins, and it reminded me that I was still alive. It was a rush, a quick high, and even the crash wasn’t so bad. It was the first time I’d felt anything in so long that I didn’t care. And it just spiraled from there.”

“Did you ever get caught?” Jack asked quietly.

“Yeah. A few times. The first time was like seven months later. Teacher saw the marks when I was handing in a test. I was usually pretty good about wearing long sleeves after the first few times, but that once, I had them pushed up a bit and she noticed and sent me to the counselor, who called my dad. The counselor said I needed to go to therapy but we couldn’t afford it, so I didn’t go. I told everyone I’d stop and they believed it. The next time was a year or so later. I’d made them think I was better because I started cutting my legs instead of my arms. They’d been checking my arms. But then my mom walked in on me in the bathroom and… well, she freaked out. Stupid me for not locking the damn door. Or maybe I wanted to get caught. I don’t know. By then, it had been so long that I knew I was addicted, I couldn’t stop. I knew I needed help but I also knew I wasn’t going to get the help I needed. Didn’t matter. They kept me home from school the next day and told me the next time they caught me cutting, they’d send me to the hospital.

“We couldn’t afford that, either, and I knew it. I felt so guilty I cut myself three times that night. After that, I got better at hiding it. They didn’t catch me again, but I never really kicked. It was the only way I knew how to cope anymore. Anytime I felt alone or guilty or sad or worthless or, fuck, even bored, I reached for the knife or the razor or whatever else sharp happened to be around. I didn’t want to die, not really, even when I thought I’d be better off dead. I was just trying to feel real again.”

Gabe was silent for a few moments, so Jack whispered, “When was the last time…?”

“Three years ago. I started channeling my energy into working out, which was definitely an improvement. Still get that endorphin boost when I finish, plus it’s a socially-acceptable way for me to punish myself and still be healthy. Kidding,” Gabe added at Jack’s alarmed look. “Mostly. Gallows humor. I’m coping. I still feel it, though. That urge to cut… It never really goes away. Not many people get it. Usually when I tell them, they… they treat me differently or they stop hanging out with me or—”

“I won’t do that to you,” Jack said. “I promise. I’m not…” He tightened his fingers against Gabe’s, pressing their hands to his heart. “Whatever you need from me. I won’t abandon you.”

“I know you won’t,” Gabe said quietly. “You won’t leave me while you have any say in it. But when that Omnic nearly took your head off today…”

_Oh._

“Just do a better job checking your six, okay?”

Jack nodded. He looked down at Gabe’s arm again, as if he could memorize the location of each scar. Each scar was a mark of a battle Gabe had fought with himself—fought and lost. And yet, even after losing so many battles, he kept fighting. Every day he fought, and Jack would never be able to see the marks from the ones he won, because the only wounds those ones left were emotional scars. “Can I…?”

“Can you what?”

“D’you mind if I kiss them?”

“Why would you want to? They’re ugly.”

“They’re a part of you, Gabe, and I love you so that means I love them, too.”

It took a second for Jack’s words to sink in, but he knew when it happened because Gabe’s eyes widened. “You’re not just saying that because of… all of this, are you?”

“No, I’ve been meaning to tell you for awhile now. I just need you to know it, especially after this. It doesn’t change anything. I love you more now than I did ten minutes ago.” Jack pulled Gabe’s hand toward him and kissed his palm.

Gabe’s free hand found the back of Jack’s head, his fingers scratching gentle patterns into his scalp, and Jack took that as a green light to keep going. He moved his mouth up, pressing his lips to the few square inches of his wrist without scars. When Gabe still didn’t stop him, Jack moved further up, kissing scars along his forearm, kissing the crook of his elbow, further up past his biceps, on to his shoulder, his collarbone, the curve of his neck, underneath his jaw, his cheek, trailing over his chin and finally kissing Gabe’s lips. He’d wanted to do that for ages now—kiss him properly, not under some circumstances that could be laughed off later as “the heat of the moment” or something. “I love you, Gabe,” Jack murmured against his mouth. “I’ll be here for you.”

“Love you, Jack. So much.”

“I know loving someone won’t cure your addiction or make your depression or anything go away, but I’m here to support you and give you whatever help you need. Anything. Just tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

Gabe closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Jack’s. “Thank you.”

That night, when they finally fell asleep, it was with Jack sprawled out across Gabe, both of them sleeping more peacefully than they had in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Gabe's story is very heavily based on my own. Some of it differs a bit but for the most part, this is real-life experiences for me, I'd say a solid 87% of it. It's super rough to try to get help when you know you can't afford it, and it was just as bad ten years ago when I really needed it. Anyway I cranked this out in about an hour and a half last night on Tumblr and I felt like cross-posting it here, so there it is.


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